Richard Marsten: Murder in the navy

“Get up!” Masters said.

“You got nothing on me!” Jones screamed crouched near the floor. “You got nothing on me, you bastard!”

“He killed her, Chuck! He admitted it,” Jean said from the bed. She seemed suddenly to remember her tom slip. She rose quietly and began putting on her jacket.

“Shut up, you bitch!” Jones snarled, turning toward her. “You ain’t going to railroad me. I ain’t just come into the Navy yesterday. I know my rights.”

“You know it’s all over, Jones, don’t you?” Masters said quietly. “You know you haven’t got a chance in hell.”

Jones was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Yeah,” and he paused and said, “Yeah,” again, and then he shook his head and sat down on the floor abruptly, all fight suddenly drained from him, his head bent, his shoulders slumped.

The clerk peeked timidly around the doorjamb.

“Are... are these the people you were looking for?” he asked.

“Yes,” Masters said, smiling. “These are the people. You’d better call the police.”

The clerk nodded, looking at Jones on the floor, and then at the sheer slip showing below Jean’s jacket.

He turned to go, and then he turned back and suddenly said, “You didn’t have to break the door, you know!”

They sat side by side as the train sped for Atlantic City. He held her hand tightly, as if he never wanted to let it go.

“You should be going in the opposite direction,” he said.

“I want to be with you,” she answered. “I don’t have to be back in Norfolk until tomorrow morning.”

“How do you feel?” Masters asked.

“All right. Now.” She smiled weakly.

“Were you frightened?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

“You’re a silly little girl. You should never have gone there alone with him.”

“Chuck, it worked out all right, though, didn’t it? I mean, we did get him, and that’s what counts, isn’t it?”

“Not if he’d harmed you. If he’d harmed you—”

She squeezed his hand. “But he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t. But he could have.”

“Yes, but he didn’t. I mean...” She turned her face toward his and raised her eyes. “You know that, don’t you? I mean... that he didn’t.”

“Yes.”

She turned her head away from him. “I... I thought I liked him, Chuck. In the beginning. Before I suspected.”

“All right,” he said.

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

“You are, I can see that. You have no right to be, you know. Keeping me waiting like that, not calling, not writing, not anything. You’re lucky I didn’t marry him or something.”

He smiled. “I know I am.”

“He was very nice,” she said petulantly. “He said very nice things to me.”

“Did he now?”

“Yes, he did. He’s a murderer, but I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t know, either,” Masters said. “Christ, what a fool I was! I had every damn radarman from the Sykes with me in Atlantic City. I knew that Jones had gone to the hospital sick before we left, and I never made the connection. I kept thinking it was Daniels, but even that ties in now. He was a married man, and he was playing around, and all his lying was just to cover that up. When I got your letter... well, sure, then it all added up. God, was I an idiot!”

“Yes,” Jean agreed. “You should have called me.”

“I didn’t mean...” He paused and then lifted her chin with his fingers. “Say, what’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Did I do anything wrong?”

“No.”

“Well, what—”

“You haven’t even said... you haven’t... Can’t you see I love you?”

“Why, sure I can,” he said, surprised.

“Then... then... why haven’t you even... even...” She seemed ready to cry. She shook her head, freeing her chin from his fingers.

“I haven’t even what?” he asked.

“Said you loved me, or...”

“I love you,” he said. “I love you, Jean.”

“... or kissed me, or held me, or...”

His arms were suddenly around her. He pulled her to him and lifted her chin, and she saw his mouth coming closer to hers and she said, “Chuck! The conductor! The passeng—”

“The hell with them,” he answered, and he kissed her gently and then put his cheek against hers, and he could feel the smile on her mouth when her cheek moved upward against his.

“You looked mighty pretty in your slip,” he whispered.

“I know,” she answered, and he pulled his face back from hers, surprised. The small smile was still on her mouth, and her happiness glistened in her eyes.

“I meant... in the hotel, when your slip—” he started awkwardly.

“I know,” she said again, and this time he was really surprised, because there was no blush on her face at all, only a womanly contentment and peace. He kissed her again, just for the hell of it, and he wondered if Commander Glenburne would perform a wedding ceremony aboard the Sykes , and then he wondered if he’d need the Navy’s official permission to take a wife, and how many forms would have to be filled out, and whether or not...

And then he simply concentrated on kissing her.